


I'll Watch Over You

by HalcyonStars



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Accidents, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Reuniting, Sad Castiel, Sad Dean, Sad with a Happy Ending, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5407436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalcyonStars/pseuds/HalcyonStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re dead.”</p><p>“Sucks, doesn’t it?” Meg pushed her dark brown hair behind her ear with a perfectly manicured nail. “Oh well, you’ll get used to it.”</p><p>“What? I’m not-”</p><p>“Dead? Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you bit the big one.” </p><p>                                                                     ***<br/>In which Castiel watches over Dean from heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Watch Over You

**Author's Note:**

> So this used to be titled 'I Will Wait for You' and then I released, "what am I doing?" The title was glaringly obvious. So I changed it :)

If there was one thing to love about adventure, it was its unpredictability. Sure, one could try to plan it all out, but it always ended up taking you where it wanted to go, and all you could do was tag along for the ride. It was why Castiel loved reading so much. Though his ability to travel outside his boring home town was limited by funds that would carry him no further than a bus station two towns over, a book could take him anywhere. It could take him to the ends of the Earth and beyond, to another planet entirely, it could take him away from his imminent future of home-ridden tax-accountant, wasting away in a town he knew would never give him the adventure he craved. He often dreamed of leaving, and it was a dream he shared with Dean, his boyfriend of three years.

It was often a thing they did together, dream, what with them being eighteen-year-olds – hell, it was to be expected. They dreamt of leaving town together, travelling the world, anything and everything they could think of. It was how their idealistic little minds worked, planning routes down a two-lane road and driving until gas ran low and they’d be forced to pull over, sleeping cuddled up on the impala’s back bench or sharing a dingy motel that paid by the hour.

“Sounds awesome,” Dean smiled from his place on Castiel’s bed. Castiel smiled back, leaning in and kissing Dean on the lips. “We can stay in motel’s that cost fifteen bucks a night.”

“We can wear shoes in the shower because we’re scared we’ll catch something if we don’t.” 

“I can yell at management when you find a live cockroach in the toilet.”

“Sounds like a dream.” Castiel chuckled deep from his belly. “We can cuddle together on a single mattress that’s made entirely of springs.”

“We can go to cheap Asian massage parlours to fix our backs from the crappy mattresses.”

“I don’t think they actually give you massages there.”

“We can have steamy threesomes with hot Asian chicks,” Dean murmured.

“You’re such an ass,” Cas laughed.

Dean tackled Cas down to the bed, stealing his breath as he captured him in a deep kiss. Castiel moaned against Dean’s lips as he settled in comfortably, fitting their hips together. Dean ran his hand up Castiel’s thigh, and Castiel pulled away from kissing Dean to catch his breath.

“We should just go. Who cares what happens. We don’t have to tell my parents, and we can leave next week, on your nineteenth birthday.”

Castiel slapped Dean on the chest lightly but insistently until he got the message and sat up, pushing Dean off him and looking at him with an affronted look. “You’re honestly never going to tell your parents about me?”

“Babe, please. I just need a little more time.”

Castiel took a breath, ready to say more when he abruptly stopped. Something about what Dean said wasn’t right. “My birthday isn’t next week. I just turned eighteen a couple days ago. I remember, it was… the first time we made love.”

“Thanks for understanding. You’re the best,” Dean replied, a relieved smile on his face.

“Pardon?”

“I know, but it won’t be.”

“Dean, you’re not making any sense,” Castiel huffed, standing up and walking around his bedroom. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration and shut the window to keep the cold air from coming into his room. The window stuttered when he tried to close it, protesting against the ice on the window frame and groaning. He finally slammed it shut, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to warm himself up when he noticed the white fog coming from his mouth. He looked at the snow piling up on the front lawn and the glossed over driveway that had a bag of salt in the basement waiting for it. It was freezing – which was to be expected in the middle of winter – the only thing was that it _wasn’t_ winter. His birthday was just days ago, and his birthday was in the middle of summer.

“Something is wrong.”

“Soon, Cas. I promise.”

Castiel looked at Dean in confusion. His green eyes were focussed straight ahead, locked onto the headboard as far as Castiel could tell. He walked up to Dean, clicking in front of his eyes a few times. Dean didn’t even notice him.

“What’s wrong with you? Are you hallucinating?”

“I know, you too,” Dean grinned, raising his hand amid air and dragging it in a gentle, caressing motion. Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand in his own, trying to keep his heart steady.

“Dean, can you see me? Can you hear me?”

Dean didn’t move.

“Just hold on okay, I’m going to go get help.”

He ran to his bedroom door and pushed it open, momentarily blinded by the overwhelming light that hit his eyes. He slowly lowered his hand, squinting against the intense brightness in a way he knew crinkled his eyes and wrinkled his forehead. His skin was aglow in the sunlight and he curled his bare feet into the soft green grass.

He turned around to see the front door of his house was shut, suspiciously missing the Christmas wreath his mother always hung in the winter time. It was warm outside, almost unbearably so, and it reminded Castiel of dashing through rampant water sprinklers under the scorching sun, blades of grass threading through his toes, or running down to the lake behind Dean’s for a much needed cool off – no one ever had a swimming pool, and so Dean was most popular in that way.

 It was, he reflected, all too reminiscent of summer to be anything else.

“It’s not winter,” he concluded.

“You _were_ always quick on the draw, weren’t you, Clarence.”

Castiel looked at a lone figure sitting on the side of the curb, body language relaxed as they leaned back on two hands and kicked their feet out forward. Dark wavy hair blew in the breeze as a familiar face looked over their shoulder.

“ _Meg_ ,” Castiel whispered.

“What gave it away?”

“Am… Am I dreaming?” he asked.

Meg took a drag from the joint in her hand, one Castiel could have sworn was empty two seconds ago.

She exhaled – something more than merely clearing the smoke from her lungs, something that turned into pity. “’Fraid not,” she said, patting the curb next to her.

Castiel sat down, looking at his best friend. “You’re dead.”

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” She pushed her dark brown hair behind her ear with a perfectly manicured nail. “Oh well, you’ll get used to it.”

“What? I’m not-”

“Dead? Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but you bit the big one.” She furrowed her brows in a way that showed she was deep in thought. She offered the joint to Castiel. “Take it, it’ll make you feel better.”

“No, you’re lying. I’m dreaming.”

She laughed, a sound Castiel had seen melt the toughest of men before. “When I first got here I thought I was high. I thought someone spiked my tray with some seriously good shit. I was totally game for buying the cheap stuff again. And then I saw my dead Aunt Ruby, and I knew there was no way I was high. I only see happy things when I’m stoned, and I hated that bitch.” She threw her head back and giggled – no, not a giggle, her laugh was too deep for that. It sounded smug and sultry and reminded Castiel of honey oozing off its scepter. “We’re in heaven, Clarence.”

“But-”

“You’re dead. Deal with it.”

That was Meg. She never had much tact or care for ones sensitivities. She was blunt and sardonic at the best of times, and she was a breath of fresh air. It’s why he loved her. Apparently, her knack for getting straight to the point wasn’t deterred by the light-hearted topic of death.

“How?”

“You know how, you just have to think about it.”

And so he did think about it. It wasn’t true what they say; Castiel’s whole life didn’t flash before his eyes. But the important parts did: like his first time with Dean, or their first date, or when they talked about leaving, or his fourth birthday when his mom bought him a plush bee that he vowed to love forever. It still sat on the end of his bed, and on occasion, he even fell asleep with it nestled in his arms. They were the same moments, now that he paid attention to it, that he’d been reliving for the past few weeks – or so his skewed perception of time would have him believe. It wasn’t hard then, to remember what happened right before it…

***

“I can’t believe you, Dean!”

“Cas please don’t get mad.”

“Don’t get mad? Dean, you promised you’d have told them by now.”

“I know, but you know how my dad is. He’s a real man’s man. What if he doesn’t like that his son has a boyfriend?”

“Well then he can get over it.”

“Why is it such a big deal?”

Castiel groaned. This fight always went the same way. “How many times do we have to have the same conversation?”

Dean sat on his bed, dragging Castiel along with him so that they sat side by side. He gripped his hand. “Please Cas, you gotta understand, this isn’t you, it’s me,” Dean dragged his hand over his face. “Fuck, I just heard how bad that sounded. What I meant is, this is because I’m too much of a coward, okay, I get that. Just please don’t take it personally.”

“How can I not, Dean? I feel like you’re too ashamed to be with me. What do I have to do to change that?”

“Fuck!” Dean growled, standing up in frustration and pulling at his hair. “What can _you_ do? This isn’t about you!” Dean shouted, and the anger in his eyes made Castiel flinch. “This is about me. Stop trying to make it your own goddamn problem. Can’t you stop being so frickin selfish!”

Castiel sat slack-jawed on the bed, heart stuttering and chest heavy. He cleared his throat and nodded once, blinking away the wetness in his eyes. He stood and walked to the door. 

“Cas, wait, I didn’t mean it,” Dean yelled as Cas ran down the stairs, stopping at the front door to put on his coat.

“I think you did, Dean.”

“Shit, where are you going?”

“Home.”

“But you’re supposed to stay for dinner.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.”

“But your parents won’t be home for a couple hours and you don’t have a house key. What are you going to do?” Dean tried instead, and it was obvious to Castiel he was trying to find any reason to get him to stay. 

Castiel sighed, calming himself with a deep breath. “Then I’ll wait on the doorstep.”

“Could you stop being so stubborn?”

“Stubborn and selfish. How do you put up with me?”

“Dammit Cas, we can talk about this.”

“Not now, Dean,” Castiel said as he shut the door on Dean and ran to his car, not caring that his shoes were getting wet as he trudged through the snow. He started up the engine and pulled away from the Winchester house, their fight running through his head without relent. It wasn’t their first fight – far from it – and he doubted it would be their last, but something about Dean’s refusal to tell his parents of their relationship struck a chord in Castiel. Maybe it was his somewhat low self-esteem and lack of friends growing up that did it, that cemented his impression that no one could ever truly want him.

It was when he was half-way to his house and still replaying their fight that he felt the first swerve of the cars wheels, the low traction on unsalted roads and the thin sheen of ice paving the way home. He had quite a few thoughts before he went plummeting into the steel light-post, but the most prominent one was that hopefully he and Dean could work it out once he woke up.

***

“I never woke up, did I?”

“Nope. Not even close.”

“That fight was so trivial and… I completely overreacted. God, I was such an idiot.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t get stabbed to death by some hopped up drug-dealer while you were trying to buy weed.” She shakes her head. “Not one of my proudest moments.”

“How long has it been, since…”

“A few days. Your funeral’s tomorrow.”

He nodded, because what was he supposed to say to that? ‘Thanks for letting me know,’ ‘cool, I didn’t miss it’? They didn’t exactly flow off the tongue.

“Hey, don’t look so glum, it’s not all bad. You have me after all.”

He smiled sadly, because in all truthfulness he did miss Meg. She would always stand up for him when he couldn’t stand up for himself, and when the other kids picked on him for his quirks she didn’t hesitate to punch them square in the face. So yes, he was thrilled to see her again – he hadn’t taken her death well – he just never thought they’d be reunited under these circumstances.

“I still can’t believe all this is happening. And I still can’t believe you’re smoking weed in heaven.”

“Well, apparently my recreational habits fly in heaven, and guess what?” she asked, taking a puff and holding it in her lungs, before blowing it out throw her nose, smiling blissfully. “So do I.”

He scoffed. “You’re such a bad influence on me.”

“What, you worried my dubious behaviour is gonna land you in hell?” She laughed. “Ships sailed on that one.”

He hummed, leaning his head on her shoulder. He breathed in the smell of leather and black jasmine and sandalwood, a scent that was distinctly Meg. She raked her fingers through his hair with her free hand, something she always did whenever he was sad and needed comfort.

“You have to think of the positives. Like, at least I don’t have to worry about dying from lung cancer.”

“Can you get lung cancer from smoking pot?”

“Who cares, this is heaven, not health class.” She threw her joint to the ground and snuffed it out under her foot. “I think they’re having your funeral now.”

“You said it was tomorrow.”

“Don’t ask me how time works up here.”

“Okay.”

Of all the adventures he thought he’d have in life, watching his funeral with his dead best friend wasn’t one of them, and he wasn’t sure if it was something he wanted to see. That day was the first time he ever saw his mother cry, huddled in a winter coat and shivering from the bitterness of loss. It was also the first time he ever saw Dean cry, clothes wet as he laid curled up in the snow in front of Castiel’s grave stone, muttering ‘I’m so sorry’ and ‘it’s all my fault’ and ‘I love you, please come back’ as he hugged a plush bee to his chest.

Castiel saw Dean cry, but Dean would never be able to see Castiel crying too.

***

They didn’t leave until John picked up a sleeping Dean from the snow, arms still tightly fastened around a soft toy.

***

Sometimes, Dean would pray to Cas. He would tell him how much he missed him and how much he loved him, and both broke Castiel’s heart. Nothing though, broke his heart more than when Dean asked for forgiveness. Because every night, he wanted to tell Dean he loved him back, and he missed him too, and that he would forgive Dean in a heartbeat if he could hear him. And every night, he heard the same prayer.

“ _I’m sorry for killing you.”_

***

Dean used to pray every night, but he doesn’t any more. Meg told him that it was a good thing, that it’s a natural human reaction to begin to move on, and that her parents were over her death in a couple of days. He didn’t hold much to that – to call Meg’s family dysfunctional would be a compliment and a gross understatement – but he did trust in Meg’s wisdom. She always understood people better than he did.

“Do you think he’ll always remember me?”

That question got him a hard slap on the back of the head and a disgruntled eye roll from Meg, as well as a few insults and profanities that even left her blushing.

“Of course,” she’d said, and called him an idiot just to top it all off. They left it at that, as Meg smoked a blunt and Castiel watched Dean watching the bees in his garden.

***

Dean visited his grave less and less over time, but just when Castiel thought he was beginning to forget him, he’d come and leave flowers, kneel down in front of the headstone and kiss the marble. He’d drag his hand down his face to wipe his tears and rub his jaw as new ones replaced them. He’d touch the small picture of Castiel at the bottom of the headstone, almost like he was trying to touch Castiel again. Cas often found himself reaching out for Dean as well, but he always knew he’d never be able to touch him.

When Dean would rest his forehead on the stone and gasp for air that wouldn’t come, and clutch the top with white-knuckled hands and whisper “how could you leave me,” Castiel found himself wondering the same thing.

***

Dean never married, or stayed in a relationship for longer than a month, but he did occasionally bring women home to meet his family. It was twelve years after Castiel passed that Dean first brought home a man. He had blue eyes and black hair, and he introduced him to his parents as Steve, his boyfriend. Castiel watched with bated breath as Mary hugged Steve and John clapped him on the shoulder and welcomed him into their home.

“What, aren’t you gonna say anything about it?” Dean asked, shocked. Mary simply shook her head in confusion.

“Dad?!”

“Son, it’s not like we didn't see it coming.”

“But how-”

“We saw the way you used to look at Castiel, honey,” Mary said, as if those words didn’t just crush everything inside of Dean.

_“You knew about me and Cas?”_

“Yes sweetheart.”

That night, Castiel watched Dean as he cried himself to sleep, plush bee tucked under his chin.

***

They’d always said they’d leave town together, explore the world…

Castiel never left town, and Dean’s dream of leaving died when Cas did.  

***

“You know. I think about it all the time. If I just had have shut my stupid mouth, you’d still be here with me. But I didn’t, because that’s what I do. I screw things up. And what I feel inside… I wish I couldn’t feel anything at all. But I know that numbing the pain for a while only makes it worse when you finally feel it. And I feel it every day, Cas. It’s the first thing I feel when I wake up in the morning and you’re not there. And it’s my fault, because I killed you. And I have to live with that, knowing that I ruined everything, and that I can’t fix it…

I brought you flowers, uh, they’re cosmos flowers. I know they were your favourite, because bees like them the best. Happy fifteenth anniversary, baby. I’ll always love you.”

***

Over the years, Castiel aged as Dean did. He didn’t know why, and with Meg never growing beyond her seventeen-years she didn’t know either. With not knowing though, came many possibilities. He could pretend that the reason was because it meant he could grow with Dean. He could pretend they were together still, and that he’d never remain young whilst he watched Dean wither away with age. It was something they always planned to do together, and in a way, they _were_ doing it together. It made him feel closer to Dean, and he’d take any chance at that he got, he didn’t need an explanation.

***

Dean was thirty-five when he started having the migraines. They began as inconsequential little things, things he hardly paid attention to. He was always stressed in some manor or another, and so he passed them off as a regular occurrence.

It was why he was shocked to say the least, when Sam finally pushed him into going to the doctors. Brain tumour, doctors had told him, inoperable. They told him they were sorry, but there was nothing they could do. They gave him a couple months at most, and sent him off with a script and distraught brother in tow.

Dean, as was usual for him in the face of adversity, was a stubborn ass. The doctors told him two months, and he pushed on for four. Dean, already having learnt the hard way not to take things for granted, cherished every second he had left. He taught Sam how to fix the Impala, he’d belt out _Ramble On_  at midnight while he still had the energy to, and would give the finger to any of his neighbours who complained…

He also visited Castiel’s grave more.

He always brought flowers, and he always cried – that never changed. Sometimes it was tears of joy, like when he came to tell Cas that Sammy was having a baby with his wife. Sometimes it was tears of laughter when he talked about the memories they shared. Mostly though, it was sadness, and on one occasion he simply stood and stared at Castiel’s picture on the headstone. He had cried all the tears he had, and had nothing left to give. He didn’t say anything, just stood in silence, the only sound being the rustling of leaves in the background and the slow, sombre shuffle of mourners passing by.

He always knelt down and kissed the headstone, touched Castiel’s name where it was engraved in some desperate attempt to feel connection.

Lately though, Dean didn’t have the energy to kneel down, and he certainly didn’t have the energy to stand back up.

“I’m coming home, baby,” he’d said, as Sam pushed him along in his wheelchair. And when Sam asked him where he wanted to go for lunch and Dean said that he wasn’t hungry, Castiel knew it wouldn’t be long.

And it wasn’t long, for Dean died two weeks later. It was a Tuesday, and it was perfectly sunny. His funeral was beautiful and the sun shone brilliantly as birds chirped and people cried. They forewent the typical flower arrangements of lilies or roses, and instead laid out cosmos and asters. They were the bees’ favourite, which meant they were Castiel’s favourite. And, as most things went, it meant that they were Dean’s favourite too.

It was probably fitting then, that Castiel felt incredibly selfish as he watched on, tears in his eyes but an unmistakable smile playing at his lips.

“They say you piss yourself when you die. I wonder if I did.”

Castiel gasped as he turned around, face to face with a smattering of freckles and green eyes brighter than any park or glade that filled heaven. “ _Dean?_ ” he whispered.

“You miss me?”

Castiel ran up to Dean and threw his arms around his neck, relishing the feeling of Dean wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist, touching. He buried his face into Dean’s neck. He could see Dean from heaven, and he could hear him, and he had their best memories to relive, but he could never truly smell him in the way that was real. It was almost like perfume – no matter what, a floral scented perfume never smelled like real flowers, it was the best substitute, but it wasn’t the real thing. Now, he had the real thing, the smell of fresh pine and motor oil and nutmeg. Castiel breathed it in like he would drown without it.

“I’ve been waiting for you for nineteen years, and the first thing you talk about is urine?”

“Would you love me any other way?”

Castiel laughed and perhaps he sniffled a little, but it didn’t matter much, because Dean’s were enough to silence it.

“No, no I wouldn’t.” They stepped out of each other’s embrace, hands still clasped but just watching. Castiel looked at Dean, and for the first time in nineteen years, Dean looked back at him.

“I’m so sorry, Cas. I never got over you, and I never forgave myself.”

“Don’t apologise, Dean. I wouldn’t have died if I hadn’t been so stubborn.”

“And selfish?” Dean tried hesitantly and jokingly, and Cas couldn't help the watery laugh he lets out.

“And selfish too,” Castiel agreed. “It doesn’t matter now, we’re both here,” he said, before Dean pulled him into a kiss. Summer was readily accessible in heaven, all you had to do was conjure up the right memory. Yet all those days – or what passed as a day in heaven – spent in the simulation of summer was nothing compared to the warmth that spread through his chest. When Dean kissed him it was slow, long and unhurried, and he pulled back every so often to gently bite at Castiel’s lower lip. They needn’t rush, because they had forever, and because after nearly two decades Castiel had learnt patience. They pulled apart slowly, but the warmth of Dean’s breath lingered on his reddened lips.

“What’d’ya say, Cas. You ready for that adventure?”

Castiel smiled as Dean dragged him by the hand, straight past the welcome sign of their home town.

“I’ve never been this far. Do you know what it’s like out there?”

“Nope, not a clue. Isn’t that the whole idea?” Dean grinned, walking forward, and Castiel followed.

It wasn’t quite the adventure they’d always planned, and it took them much longer than expected to take it, but it was a wonderous one nonetheless, and it was one they took together.

 

 


End file.
